


Pyrrhic

by CeruleanMusings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Battle of Hogwarts, Cruciatus, Did I Mention Angst?, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, like this is really angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanMusings/pseuds/CeruleanMusings
Summary: “Was it worth it?” Theo demanded, his hazel eyes blazing, a sharp turn at the corner of his mouth.“What’re you—?” Draco’s words died on his tongue as his brain registered just who it was that had a hold on him and who it was that spoke to him. His lips parted for a second, disbelief shooting out of him in a single breath, and he moved to push Theo away. “You’re not supposed to be here you idiot.”Theo ignored him, a skill that he’d mastered years ago but still rubbed Draco’s nerves after all this time. His grip shifted to the sleeve of Draco’s shirt, yanking it upwards in one deft and fluid motion. Even seething, Theo had a way of making all his movements graceful.“This!” Theo jerked Draco’s arm upwards and a burn of bile shot up his throat that the sight of it. The black mark etched into his skin; flickering beneath the nearby torch lights. The snake seeping out of the mouth of the skull seemed to wag its tongue at him, winking, taunting. “Was this worth it?”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Pyrrhic

Scuffed shoes, once shiny and pristine, stumbled over a pile of rubble that tripped him around the corner. Pitching forward, Draco slammed onto his hands and knees, his wand handle pressing into his palm like a rock in his shoe.

The rough corners of concrete and stone slabs pushed and prodded and tore at his knees when he fell. The resulting throbs and stinging pain cut across his kneecaps. He didn’t have to look down to see that his dress pants had been brushed with dust and torn apart

He spat, forcing out the dust that had sucked moisture out of his mouth and his body bent at an odd and unrefined shape in an effort to hold himself up. No sense in damaging his nose any more than it already suffered.

 _Merlin_ , that Weasley could pack a punch. He didn’t look it, with his gangly frame and awkward limbs. Yet the punch delivered to his nose, in front of _Death Eaters_ no less, smacked him a good one. And yet that hurt a lot less than his aching pride. Or what was left of it, anyway.

Easing himself to his feet, Draco brushed a dirty, soot covered hand against his shirt. It left a darkened smear on the white starchy fabric, a black scar along his silver and green tie. With a grunt and a sneering curl to his lips, he wrenched off his tie and allowed the silky fabric, a badge he once wore pinned to his swelled chest, to lay in the ground in a discarded heap, coiled up like a snake.

He pushed a breath out of his nose, licked his dry, cracked lips, and continued down the hallway. His gait was slow with a slight limp but he pushed forward. Every now and then the castle rocked with the force of an explosion followed by a burst of screams and a roar of rage. It bounced off him, like oil on water, and he kept going as the hurricane surrounded him.

He needed to get out. He needed to get to his parents. He needed—

The acrid scent of fire flashed passed his nose, a breeze squeezing through a crack in a nearby wall. He stopped all at once, rooted to the spot, dull gray eyes wide as a roar rushed in his ears. It howled and screamed, growing in volume, and grew human in tone. Drowning in agony, bleeding in fear.

Draco clapped his hands over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and begged for the screaming to stop. For Crabbe to be released from the painful grip of Hell. For the scent of burning hair and the sound of popping flesh to fade. For his heavy heart to be forgiven.

Air. He needed air.

Vice tightening on his chest, squeezing his lungs, Draco dropped his arms to the side and started forward again. Moving faster. His parents! He needed to find his mum and dad, to make sure they were okay. They _needed_ to be okay. They needed—

Draco’s heart dropped when a hand grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him sideways off his feet, down a darkened corridor. All breath flew out his lungs when his back connected with the steady stone wall. The grip on his shirt loosened, only slightly, and it took him a startling second to realize something was being hissed into his ear.

“What?” he uttered.

“Was it worth it?” Theo demanded, his hazel eyes blazing, a sharp turn at the corner of his mouth.

“What’re you—?” Draco’s words died on his tongue as his brain registered just who it was that had a hold on him and who it was that spoke to him. His lips parted for a second, disbelief shooting out of him in a single breath, and he moved to push Theo away. “You’re not supposed to be here you idiot.”

Theo ignored him, a skill that he’d mastered years ago but still rubbed Draco’s nerves after all this time. His grip shifted to the sleeve of Draco’s shirt, yanking it upwards in one deft and fluid motion. Even seething, Theo had a way of making all his movements graceful.

“This!” Theo jerked Draco’s arm upwards and a burn of bile shot up his throat that the sight of it. The black mark etched into his skin; flickering beneath the nearby torch lights. The snake seeping out of the mouth of the skull seemed to wag its tongue at him, winking, taunting. “Was _this_ worth it?”

“Sod off, Nott!” Draco pushed him off, brushing his hands against the wrinkles in his clothes. Habits died hard, he supposed. But it was expected of him, normal. He needed normal. It was nice. At least he could do that right. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t need to understand much to know you’re a coward.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course that’s what you think. You’re missing the big picture, you’re…” His words trailed off and he pressed his lips together. _Better_ flashed in his mind but he pushed that fleeting thought away. “Leave. I have something to do.”

“Bend over?” Theo offered.

He wasn’t sure what set him off; the blasé tone that seemed to be permanently attached to Theo’s words, the air of judgement crackling around him, or Theo’s general undermining disposition. Or maybe it was all of it that sent Draco surging forward, colliding with Theo, slamming his body into the opposite wall.

The two boys collided with a heavy thud, a minuscule sound beneath the battle raging on around them. Their wands lay forgotten on the ground, fits curling and sinking into the fabric of their shirts as they fought one another, shoving this way and that, grunting and hissing as they battled for the upperhand. Theo was a hair taller than Draco and had the leverage but Draco was faster. Years of Quidditch helped build strength within him compared to Theo’s penchant for shutting himself away.

A stream of dust fell on their heads when the castle rocked again, shaking them, pushing them away from one another. A stark metallic taste seeped into Draco’s mouth; running his tongue along his bottom lip was met with the sting of a fresh cut. Blood dotted his tongue. Theo, worse for wear, leaned against the opposite wall, chest heaving, a swelling red patch by his eye. He brought an arm up to his mouth, wiping away a streak of blood. Whose, he wasn’t sure.

“You think you have this all figured out, huh?” Draco asked between pants. Theo turned his eyes to him but didn’t speak. Draco sniffed and spat. Dark blood splattered on the ground in between them. “You think this is all easy. What I had to do.”

“You made that choice— ”

“ _I had no choice!”_ The words shot out of Draco’s throat, raw, hitting Theo like bullets. He winced. Draco relished in it, in Theo’s resolve falling. “He doesn’t give us choices. We just…we have to do it. I have to do it! I _have_ to! My family…you don’t get it.” His mouth stumbled over the words that came up in a rush, clumping together, fighting to be heard, to be understood. To be taken without that look in Theo’s eye, without the airs of an upturned nose, without the disappointment. Like Draco could just…stop. Could change. Could walk away. “I have to…I have to make it right. My parents…”

“They’re letting you walk to your death,” Theo said.

“Fuck you!” Draco hissed. He shook his head. No, no that’s not what they were doing. They cared about him. He cared about them. He was trying to _save_ them. There was no other choice. It was up to him now. He couldn’t fail again. Not after… His stomach pitched hard and he pressed his lips together, forcing his mind away from the image of Crabbe back in the Room of Requirement. His hands trembled by his side; in the back of his mind fire cracked and popped like fireworks. Or was that the battle going on a few floors down? “Why are you here?”

“This is my school.”

“Your father— ” 

“I’m hoping to run into him, actually.” The icy tone to Theo’s words made Draco lift his head, lock eyes with his longtime friend.

All at once he was brought back to the days before Hogwarts, when they would run around the large gardens at the Malfoy Manor, trying to get as far away from their parents as possible. When they would grin at each other beneath windswept hair and ruddy cheeks from managing to get a good flight in on the brooms laying around. When they would sneak out at night and talk by the dragon fountain, waiting for it to change its pose or spit water at them instead of the basin at the bottom.

“My father’s sick,” Theo spoke so suddenly that Draco almost missed it. Theo didn’t talk a lot but when he did Draco listened. He always listened. “Healers came today. Said it could be bad.”

“Oh,” was all Draco said. What else could he say? Theodore Nott Sr. was a man he never crossed paths with much. He only saw the elderly man when he came to visit the Malfoy Manor to speak with his own father behind closed doors. His bony hands shook as if he were nervous but the way he lifted his chin and held his body told Draco that he was anything but. He saw that same assuredness in Theo sometimes. Draco once thought of Nott Sr. as a walking skeleton. The grim reaper. Theo laughed at that once. Draco still didn’t get why that was funny. Still, he said, “I’m sorry.”

The lights that one sparkled in Theo’s eyes they could put the constellations above to shame faded as Theo said, “I’m not.”

And it was now, as the two stood in the cramped corridor, regarding each other, that Draco witnessed the hardened look from their youth settling in Theo’s eyes.

“You came back for him,” Draco said. An odd pang accompanied his words, a gash ripping open on his heart. A deep, soulful ache, like rubbing a wound on glass.

A muscle in Theo’s jaw twitched. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh.”

Silence pulsed between them, gazes unwavering, and then…

“ _You have fought valiantly, but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me._ ”

Like an ebbing wave, all sound seemed to be sucked out of the castle save for a low hum. It took Draco a few seconds to place that it was the still of anticipation.

“Malfoy—” 

“I need to go,” Draco said, cutting Theo off. This was his only chance. He could find his parents and they could leave. Before…before _He_ found them. Before he could get them. They could hide out…somewhere. They could never go back but…at least they’d be together.

“You don’t…” something in Theo’s voice made him stop and turn. His heart stuttered. “It can be different.”

“…No, it can’t. It’s too late.”

“It can all stop. Right now.”

“Forget it, Nott. …I have to do this.” Draco flashed a sad smile. “It’s already been done, really.” His eyes drifted back down to the Dark Mark on his forearm.

Somewhere down below a wail echoed upwards.

“… _Merlin_ , you’re such a git!”

Once again Draco was bodyslammed into the wall but Theo was too close and beneath the sweat and grime he smelled too redolent and his grip was too tight and his kiss was too _good._

His whole body sighed into Theo’s, pressing up against him, slotting together like a missing puzzle piece. His fingers dug into the tight fabric of Theo’s starchy white shirt, tugging him closer still.

Theo’s fingers dug into his hair and their lips collided with every greedy grab for another and another and another. Theo’s tongue ran across the cut on Draco’s lower lip, coaxing, and Draco let him in.

At the touch of tongues the two boys groaned. Draco’s head swam, a dizzying exhilaration that would’ve knocked him off balance if it were for Theo’s steady, sure hold on him. Draco lifted his hands to Theo’s face, thumbs brushing the stubble that coated his jaw—a new development in these past couple months that Draco admired from afar—and gently touching the swelling beneath his eye.

Their hearts hammered together, Draco felt Theo’s beats in the spaces between his own, a push and pull that mimicked their kisses, their desperation for touch, their effort to hold onto something in a world that spun them out of control. With every kiss, every sigh, every rush of goosebumps, Draco wondered if this was a better choice. If Theo was a better choice. If they could turn and walk away.

But he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve Theo to care about him. He made his bed, he had to lie in it. And not in the way that flashed in his mind when Theo’s fingers pressed into his spine, eliciting a moan from deep in his throat. This was nice, welcomed, needed, _wanted_ , but it wasn’t for him.

Fingers twitching by his side, they then curled around his wand as it slapped into his palm. In one swift motion, before he could think, he jabbed the tip of it into Theo’s stomach and whispered “Crucio” into his mouth.

With a bang and a rush of green light, Theo was thrown backwards. His body slammed against the ground with a sickening thud and Draco’s racing heart beat erratically for a different reason. The previous exhilaration died, as it should, and he lowered his shaking hand. Theo’s body seized and convulsed, eyes wide and unfocused.

Turning on his heel, Draco hurried out of the corridor but not before hearing Theo’s scream of agony. He stopped, eyes clenching, the sound echoing in his head, etching a new scar on his heart. It blended in with the others.

Clenching his jaw, lifting his chin, Draco kept moving, Theo’s screams melding in with the bellows and cries of loss below.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, you can come scream at me about Draco and Theo over at [my tumblr](https://ceruleanmusings.tumblr.com). One of these days I'll write something soft and fluffy for them but today is not that day. Also, we were robbed of seeing more Draco and Theo interactions during sixth and seventh year. There could've been a goldmine of angst and relationship issues between the two of them then as the battle lines were drawn. Alas, looks like I'm going to have to do it myself.


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